Grad School AU
by gigi2690
Summary: Myka Bering is a Classical Studies grad student with dissertation deadlines looming over her head. She's made a huge breakthrough but needs the help of a certain English Professor to take the next step. But what happens when that professor turns out to be just as beautiful and charming as is she is brilliant? And what's more...what happens when their research turns dangerous?
1. Chapter 1

She'd hit a wall. A fourth year in Columbia's Classical Studies graduate program, Myka Bering only had a few more months before the first chapter of her dissertation was due. There were few things Myka found more agonizing than being on the cusp of understanding and being unable to take those last steps. When she'd stumbled upon Dr. Wells' article it was like a missing piece of the puzzle slid into place, and when Dr. Wells turned out to be a Professor in Columbia's own English and Comparative Lit. Department it almost had Myka believing in fate.

Ill-fated more like. For she was late, and Myka was never late. But Pete-

her childhood friend, the boy who punched Tommy Randall in the 3rd grade for pushing her down on the playground and then proceeded to tell her jokes until the teacher finished cleaning off the cuts on her knees-

Pete who Myka loved without reservation but who really shouldn't be calling her at 4am if he wanted to keep both his testicles. Upon hearing his voice, however, she instantly forgave him,

"Amanda left."

And she'd talked him down and away from the bottle until the sun was up and she was already late. And she really shouldn't have stopped to grab that coffee, but even with the excitement of finally making headway on her research, she was afraid she'd fall asleep in her meeting. Only, if she hadn't stopped then she wouldn't have been right there to go tête-à-tête with a swinging door. All her papers and colour-coded notes scattered to blanket the marble floor just shy of the entrance to the English department. And the low groan that escaped her was more petulant than anything, because didn't it just figure?

She didn't recognize anyone, having never needed to come to this part of the building before, but she avoided eye contact anyway. She could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks as she nodded and waved off the young red-haired woman and her rambling apologies. Falling to her knees as gracefully as she could in her pleated skirt (which meant not at all) Myka started collecting her papers, unable to resist putting them back in order regardless of her tardiness.

"Red-Greek. Blue-Latin. Green-Kufic script. Yellow-Aramaic." Looking up, her mumbling was cut short as she found herself caught in the most vivid mahogany eyes, and if there wasn't a literal damn twinkle in those intelligent depths, Myka would eat the rainbow post-it pad clenched tightly in her fist.

The eyes belonged to a beautiful woman in her late-thirties with medium length jet-black hair whom Myka now realized was smiling down at her from the other end of the Department lobby. She was tempted to smile back perhaps at the sheer lunacy of her own behavior, but she really was late so instead she went back to collecting her papers, and ignored the slight pang of disappointment at the woman's absence once she returned to her feet.

Her destination lay at the far corner of the department. While many of the other office doors had tacked articles or cartoons featuring literary puns to their surface, the one in front of her stood out for its simplicity: a sole small plaque reading 'Dr. Helena Wells' front and centre. _Professor Wells is a woman?_ Her article was just under the initial Dr. H Wells, and somehow this detail had escaped her when she'd done her googling.

Her knock was answered with a low lilting, "Yes?" and Myka was struck dumb upon entering the small office, her mouth opening and closing a few times in a wholly unattractive manner. _Professor Wells was that woman? How on Earth did she beat me back? And by god she's attractive._ Myka tried to smile, but she could feel the heat returning to her cheeks and the anxiety in the lines of her face.

"Hello. You must be my 8 o'clock, Miss Bering?" Myka nodded, the soft British accent at once lulling her apprehension and setting her on edge. She watched long fingers lacing to press against a rich cherry wood desk notably absent of clutter, "You are a bit late, but having witnessed your entrance to the department," Myka felt her blush intensify, and watched with wide eyes as the other woman allowed her gaze to trail after it as it kissed her collarbones and sank down her blouse's opening, falling between the valley of her breasts (last time she listens to Pete's fashion advice before a meeting),

"I won't hold it against you. I remember the days," Professor Wells laughed and Myka inexplicably wanted to hear it again, and more specifically to be the cause of such a mellifluous sound. She could it feel it curl around her, sending a slow pleasant tingling down her spine, vertebra by vertebra, "and nights with a dissertation looming over my head. Now shut the door and come in darling."

Myka answered the soft command and beckoning finger without thought, drifting slowly closer stopping just short of the large desk at the centre of the small office. Her eyes darted around to the bookshelves that flanked both walls and a large window that stood behind the desk, casting a warm glow about the room. She looked to the worn leather chair beside her but ignored it.

She adjusted the papers in her arms, more for wont of something to do than anything else. For some reason she was rather thrown by this woman. She was certainly not what Myka had expected. She had expected Professor Wells to be more like her advisor: older, a bit unkempt, and grouchy as if every second he spent on her was one keeping him from something of greater importance.

This woman countered every assumption, and the small smile tugging on the corner of her lips had Myka suspecting she was aware of that fact.

"I admit I was surprised when I got your request for a meeting. I don't often get many Classical Studies grad students beckoning at my door. So Miss Bering, what puzzle can I help you with today?" Professor Wells' smile was bright, but her eyes were challenging, assessing.

Myka smiled slightly in response, nodding as she took a deep breath. This she could do. This was what she excelled at, and the desire to meet the challenge in those dark eyes exceeded even her usual drive to please. She started laying out her notes, still nervous but not entirely sure why,

"You wrote an article a few years ago about the poet Keats and his involvement in a secret society." The woman leaned back in her chair, the stretch pulling alluringly at the pale blue blouse just peeking out from under an understated but undoubtedly expensive black power suit. Myka swallowed the lump in her throat. She turned to look back at the notes she was arranging along the desk separating them. Professor Wells' eyes followed her every movement, eventually speaking up in the lull,

"Yes, people have been positing about Keats' ties to secret societies for a long time." Myka looked up to find Professor Wells' gaze fixed on her rather than her research. She nodded, clinging to the intellectual and trying to ignore the warm but unsettling feeling of being under the woman's scrutiny,

"True, but you claimed that while Keats was a spiritual man his regard for intellectualism made you question his compliance with the hermetic philosophies held by the secret societies of the time." The raven-haired woman's lips twitched, and she tilted her head slowly accordance,

"Indeed. Influencing the world through contact with," Myka had never seen a professor use air quotes and found the gesture oddly charming, "'heavenly forces,' while the man was certainly a romantic poet he became exceedingly realistic as he got older and yet…"

Myka finished for her, words coming out quickly now, unable to contain her excitement, "his letters indicated continued involvement. You analyzed a correspondence with one of his friends in which he spoke of an 'endless wonder.'" She paused, watching with rapt attention as Professor Wells now moved to lean forward in her chair, lessening the distance between them as she finally began to look over the papers Myka had practically covered her desk in.

"I don't think the endless wonder was a reference to heavenly forces or Godly reverence," Myka continued, nervously rubbing at the back of her neck; she hadn't told anyone this next part, not even her advisor, "I think it was a reference to something more physical. Perhaps even a place. Something that has existed for a very long time."

It came out in one breath, and it was a few moments before Myka remembered to breathe in again. She could feel that delicious drug of discovery singing in her veins. The tension in her frame kept her still as she waited for the other woman to speak. With what she'd unearthed she suspected was in need of this woman's help to take the next step.

The silence lingered as Professor Wells turned from the notes to simply look at her. One sculpted eyebrow was raised making her look both amused and intrigued, and Myka was not at all sure how to take that.

"You have writings here, I recognize Latin and Greek but not the others. How does this," Professor Wells gestured vaguely at the colour-coded array that lay between them, "play into it?" It wasn't approval, but it wasn't a dismissal either. Myka's heart lurched painfully all the same,

"I've got texts from 900 B.C.E to the 11th century: Aramaic," she pointed to each one in turn, "Hellenistic Greek, Medieval Latin, and Arabic from the Fatimid era." One long finger was playing at the edge of a green post-it; Myka could see the moment the other woman recognized her color-coding scheme. The resulting indulgent grin made Myka blush for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

Myka rolled on the balls of her feet, attempting to regain her bearings, "After translation, they all use a surprisingly similar phrase, 'Limitless wonder' 'endless marvels' etc to refer to something. Something to be treasure and protected."

Helena was shaking her head but her eyes now roved over the papers with focused consideration, "Indeed intriguing but very speculative. It could simply be a coincidence." Myka nodded,

"I thought so too, at first, but look at this." She pointed to a small symbol she'd highlighted.

Both eyebrows rose now, "I'm sorry darling," her voice was teasing and low and Myka had to lean in a bit closer to hear, "but I don't read Aramaic." Myka grinned broadly, eyes alight. She could feel victory at hand,

"It's not Aramaic," she pointed at the same symbol highlighted on a page covered in red post-its, "and that's not Greek," and another, "and that's not Arabic." Helena now looked more closely at the symbol highlighted on each page,

"It looks like some sort of bird standing on a flame under a roof." Myka nodded. Some were hard to see-the Greek one looked more like a blob with a beak- but they were all undeniably the same symbol.

"I think the endless wonder is referring to whatever that symbol represents." Professor Wells leaned back once more, looking impressed in spite of herself,

"You're arguing that this same treasure has existed since 900 B.C until the 11th century. That would make it the oldest legend to date, regardless of whether it truly exists." She let out a controlled breath, shaking her head with a wry grin, "To say that would be a discovery of massive import is a considerable understatement."

Myka shook her head, pulling out a heavily marked copy of the article that brought her to this woman's door in the first place. She turned it to the second to last page and pointed to just to the right of Keats' signature at the bottom of a Xeroxed image of his correspondence,

"No. I think that some tangible thing of great worth has either existed or thought to have existed since 900 B.C.E until at least 1818, perhaps longer." The woman looked down at her own article, noting the unmistakable symbol that lie at the bottom of the page. Wells' fingers ran through her hair, tugging slightly at the inky strands. When she turned back to look at Myka, the spark in her gaze was mirrored in Myka's own.

"I help you with your dissertation, and I'll publish a paper regarding what our collaboration illuminates regarding Keats." It was a statement not a question, sure and confident, but Myka was nodding anyway,

"That was what I was hoping Professor Wells." The woman grinned widely now, two full rows of pearly white teeth on display. It was an exceedingly captivating smile, laced with excitement and something almost feral in its intensity. Myka was lost in it for a moment, almost not hearing the next words,

"Brilliant. But if we are to be working together darling, do call me Helena."

~.~

She'd known from the article and meeting Professor Wells, Helena-she corrected in her head not for the first nor the last time-that the woman was highly intelligent (Top of her class from Cambridge, full professor at 34…Myka may have done some more googling after that first meeting), but the evenings she'd spent past few weeks pouring over texts in Wells' office or one of the many study rooms in the university's enormous library had demonstrated just how much of an understatement 'intelligent' was. She had a mind the likes of which Myka had never seen.

Within a few days, with no prior knowledge of any dead language but Latin, she'd started to gain cognizance –bringing Myka Greek and Arabic texts to their meetings that she'd somehow come across and thought would be of use…and she was unnervingly almost always correct.

Myka had often felt set apart by her own mind, the way it absorbed and pulled apart everything around her. Pete always said she thought too much. Even in college and then again in grad school she'd assumed she would find people of like ambition and drive, but it seemed that many sought knowledge to reach a goal- publication or a grade- and not as Myka saw it, with the attainment of knowledge and understanding in of itself being a worthy goal.

She soon found herself developing a sense of kinship with the charming British Professor. Dark eyes lighting up with every new discovery, every newly attained bit of knowledge – regardless of whether it related to their actual work. Late nights in her office had also revealed another side.

As the department cleared out, Helena would shuck her blazer and roll up the sleeves of whatever button-down she'd chosen for the day (always one too many buttons undone in Myka's opinion. It made the times when she'd bend over to pull a text from a shelf or lean over Myka's shoulder to point out something incredibly distracting). Myka also had the distinct impression that Helena knew the effect she had on her. Sometimes when her gaze would linger on the opening of her shirt and the spattering of freckles just barely visible along her sternum she'd look up to find Helena watching her with a cheeky grin or sometimes a softer knowing smile.

She was also fairly certain that-to an extent- this went both ways. She too had an effect on the professor, something that still surprised her: every time she'd look up from reading and find Helena's eyes focused on her mouth and more specifically the bottom lip she had a penchant for gnawing on when concentrating, or every time Helena drifted just a bit too close only to jerk slightly away…as if it were a compulsion she could not help, as if Myka had some pull that she could not escape.

Myka's eyes darted down to her wrist as she adjusted the shoulder strap of her bag at her side. 7:10. She had been extra carful not to be late after that first meeting. She told herself it was to make up for her poor first impression and not out of a desire to see the other woman. As she meandered her way to through the English department, she noticed two people chatting a few feet in front of Helena's closed office door. A short red-haired woman that appeared to be in her early-twenties and that looked oddly familiar and a tall man with short brown hair…they were engaged in a lively conversation and did not notice her presence until she was right in front of them,

"I'm telling you dude, I know H.G okay. Something's up and it has something to do with-" the young redhead trailed off, eyes widening as she finally noticed her arrival, "Oh. Hello. Fancy seeing you here."

Myka's eyes narrowed in question but she was distracted by a sudden realization,

"You're the woman who swung a door at my face a few weeks ago." It was more of an amused statement than an accusation but the young woman winced anyway, fiddling with the large collection of bracelets on her wrists,

"Yeah. That was me. I'm so sorry. I think I said that before, but yeah- totally am…" she trailed off, sending a glare at the man to her right who seemed to be holding in a laugh before continuing, "You're Myka Bering right?"

Myka nodded slowly, confusion setting in again, "How did you-"

Myka swore she heard the woman mutter something about curly hair and bright green eyes but didn't get the chance to speculate before the young woman extended her hand, "I'm Claudia Donovan, I'm Professor Wells' assistant. Among other things I handle her schedule, and you've been taking up quite a bit of it." She was smirking like she was privy to some knowledge Myka was not, and after a moment the young man with kind gray eyes jabbed her in the side with his elbow. She started, slapping him back,

"And this pain in the ass is Steve Jinks. He's basically the go-to guy when people need to get anything done in the Department." She leaned in to mock-whisper conspiratorially, "he's also the English Department Poker Champion 3 years running. Be forewarned." Myka smiled, nodding her head and promising to take that under advisement just as the office door behind them swung open,

"Ah good, Myka," Helena had already tossed aside her blazer looking effortlessly beautiful in a pale green blouse and tapered charcoal dress pants. Her eyes lingered on Myka for a moment before turning to the redhead, "Claudia. I thought I told you that you could go home over an hour ago. I need you bright and early tomorrow to help me with my seminar."

Claudia grinned, "Oh Jinksy and I were just heading off. Just stuck around to confirm a suspicion. You always do tell me to pursue every notable inquiry…" Helena's eyes narrowed and Claudia swallowed thickly, the cockiness seeping from her face, "and we'll be going now." She grabbed a hold of Steve's collar and promptly dragged him away.

Myka watched them go with a bemused expression. She turned back to find Helena studying her face intently. She cleared her throat and raised the small paper cup holder in her hand, "I brought beverages." Coffee for her; Tea for Helena. Helena always preferred herbal teas in the evening with just a touch of honey.

"Splendid. Well come on in darling." Feeling oddly reminiscent of their initial meeting, again inexplicably both more comfortable and more on edge, Myka followed Helena into her office.

For the next few hours they worked in relatively quiet harmony. Occasionally Helena would read an excerpt from some poem or letter written by one of the now 3 other poets and writers of the romantic era that they suspected were part of the same secret society that knew of the "endless wonder" they sought. They'd chat on the meaning of a passage or phrase and then drift back into comfortable silence. It wasn't until close to 10 that Helena broke the quiet for something besides their research,

"You know. I was very surprised to have gotten your email. Especially with your advisor being Arthur Nielsen, I was under the distinct impression that he doesn't much care for me." Myka looked up to find Helena smiling at her, leaning forward against the desk, palm tucked against her chin. Myka shook her head unable to help but return the smile,

"No. He doesn't, he was staunchly against me working with you when I told him, but when I asked why he wouldn't say." Myka pulled her bottom lip into her mouth sucking gently and watching Helena's eyes follow the move before she continued, "Why is that? I don't even know why you would be on his radar. The English Department is rather removed-physically and academically-from the Classics Department."

Helena grinned, but it was laced with something different, not angry but something far darker, "He has his reasons. There was an incident a few years ago that I was involved in. Because of such, Arthur did not think it suitable for me to be hired here. Thankfully, his position was overruled."

Myka desperately wanted to ask what the incident was, what it was that could bring about such a change in the woman's eyes, cause such immediate tension in her, but she could not. She had a feeling Helena wouldn't tell her anyway. Instead she turned back to the book in front of her, smiling as she spotted that elusive symbol for which they had both been searching,

"I found another one." Helena was out of her seat and standing behind her before she could say another word. Helena leaned down, the tips of her hair tickling the exposed column of Myka's throat, "Uh- see." She cursed herself inwardly, but the closeness was dizzying. Myka was certain that if she turned her head slightly to the side and up, no, she would not go there. She stared at the page in front of her, her knuckles white around the frayed binding.

"That does not look like one of the languages with which we've been working." Myka shook her head,

"No. It's Neo-Sumerian. 2100 B.C.E." Two long arms bracketed each side of her body, trapping her in the small space between the desk and the woman behind her. After a moment of silence, Myka finally got up the courage to turn her head. _Oh God. _She was so very very close. Myka could feel Helena's slightly shallow exhales, warm and sweet with the scent of honey.

"I was not aware that so many languages were required to get your doctorate." She was smirking; her bottom lip was moist as if she had just run her tongue along its length.

"You don't. You only need to be proficient in 2 ancient languages and 2 modern." Helena tilted her head slightly to the side in question,

"And may I ask how many modern languages there are in which you're," her eyes darted down to Myka's mouth and then farther, rolling with aching leisure down her frame and back up again, "proficient?" Myka's throat was dry, and as she squirmed in place her hand brushed against Helena's on the desk, but she did not move it,

"Five." Helena nodded looking not at all surprised by her answer. Myka felt the heat rushing to her cheeks and spreading-by the wandering look in Helena's eyes-everywhere.

"Delightful," it was only a whisper, but Myka could not possibly miss it, they were but inches away. She frowned brows furrowing in confusion, she had a feeling Helena did not mean her language capabilities,

"What is?" For some reason her voice was equally quiet. As if their conversation was to be kept secret even from the shadows on the walls.

"That blush on you." It came out in one long breath, and with Helena's eyes widening ever so slightly, Myka wasn't entirely sure it was meant to be said aloud. All it would take would be to lean up slightly, or to pull at the hand now resting on top of her own.

The chorus of 'Eye of the Tiger' rang out loudly in the room. Pete had set that as his own personal ringtone. As Helena straightened, tracing her fingers over Myka's knuckles before stepping away, Myka honestly couldn't say if she was disappointed or relieved.

"What is it Pete?"

"Hey Mykes! I need a ride!" He sounded hyper, but Myka knew a front when she heard one,

"What happened to your car?"

"Didn't bring it. And I lost my wallet so I can't call a cab. Please Mykes?"

Myka signed running her fingers through her hair, suspicions now confirmed, "You're drunk."

There was a lingering silence before Pete answered, false glee replaced with exhaustion and an uncharacteristic meekness that bordered on begging, "Please Mykes."

"Fine. Where are you?" She gave Helena an apologetic look, still close enough to be dizzying. Helena nodded, already back on her side of the desk and helping to gather the mess of books and papers, separating hers from Myka's.

Myka gathered her things as quickly as she could as she got the details from Pete, not looking back and yet very much aware that Helena was watching her go.


	2. Chapter 2

Pete was heavy against her side, his arm draped around both her shoulders with length to spare. He may have gotten leaner in the Army, but his frame still screamed hulking football jock and it was only Myka's years of fencing that gave her the strength to half carry her best friend to the waiting taxi.

They didn't say a word as Myka half dropped him against the pleather interior. Pete curled himself up, staring blearily out the window as the city lights bled into the rain. Myka gave Pete's address and sat back with a heavy exhale. She'd been on autopilot since receiving Pete's call, and only now did the events of the evening come rushing back. Helena had looked as if she was about to kiss her, and even more terrifying, Myka felt as if –in fact-she may have been the one to kiss Helena.

Her tongue swept across her bottom lip; she swore she could taste the honey from Helena's breath. Palms pressed firmly against her eyelids, as she groaned into the quiet. God what a tired trope, a lesbian affair with a professor. At least it wasn't _her _professor. No. That was a dangerous journey for her thoughts, and with the first chapter of her dissertation due in two months she needed to focus.

That was the problem though, regardless of whether she did anything, Helena had already proved to be quite the diversion… popping up between cups of coffee and lines of text, lingering in her dreams. And Myka-the epitome of dedication and concentration-found herself wanting, craving the distraction like nothing she'd ever known before. Not even Sam. And it was terrifying.

"She was supposed to be my one." Myka started, her head spinning to face the other occupant of the back seat. She cursed herself for, well, being _distracted_ from her obviously hurting best friend. But Pete wasn't looking at her, he was still gazing imploringly out the window…seeking to divine answers from the starless sky.

When he spoke again the broken tremor in his voice wrenched something jagged and brittle within her chest, "Amanda was supposed to be my one." Myka had always liked Amanda, she had been patient with Pete, enjoyed his humour and treasured the almost innocent way he saw the world despite the horrors he'd seen at war. They'd always gotten along; Amanda would probably have asked Myka to be one of her bridesmaids if not for the fact that she was Pete's best man. But now- seeing Pete looking so miserable and so achingly young-Myka kinda hated her.

It reminded Myka of Pete at 15 after Tiffany broke up with him and he got into his parents' liquor cabinet for the first time, she still didn't know how he managed not to kill himself while drunkenly climbing through her second story window.

She'd kept him company as he clung to her toilet bowl, her words of comfort whispered in an attempt to keep her parents and Tracy from hearing her midnight guest. Her fingers had trailed through his hair; traced gentle circles into the base of his neck. Myka unconsciously reached out -much as she had that night- her nails scratching lightly against his scalp until his breathing evened out.

She kept running her fingers through his short brown locks until the taxi pulled up to the curb. She wondered how much of a tip it would take for their driver to help carry Pete up to his apartment.

~.~.~

Myka's heels beat in tandem with a dozen others as she made her way across the English Department. Far more accustomed to coming after dusk, Myka was a little thrown by the bustle of noon. Due to scheduling issues they hadn't been able to meet for the last week: Helena was up for a grant and Myka had recently resumed her position as a T.A on top of her research and job at the Library.

It was a blessing in disguise though, as it had provided a buffer for any awkwardness that may have sprung from the moment they had shared…and more to the point it had allowed Myka the time to create a thorough pro and con list to remind herself the importance of not crossing that capricious yet captivating line. Myka didn't think she was the only one, Helena had, after all, picked the time they were to meet…a time with plenty of witnesses.

The department was a giant square with the department lounge at the centre. Steve Jinks' desk was beside the lounge entrance, and Helena's assistant, Claudia, had a desk right around the corner. That said, Myka more often than not found her sitting on Jinks'. Like now.

"Come on Jinksy. You gotta ask him." Myka slowed her gait and glanced at her watch, she had a few minutes and she was more than a little curious at what it was that was making Steve squirm. She backed up behind the corner she'd just rounded, out of sight but not earshot.

"Why can't you mind your own business," Myka could only imagine the look Claudia was giving him as he hastily continued, "I don't even know if he'd be interested Claud." It sounded like an excuse; Myka would know, she'd been teeming with them lately. Myka knew she was eavesdropping, but she was also certain Claudia had listened in on one or two of her and Helena's late night conversations and a little turnabout felt like fair play.

Claudia scoffed, and Myka peaked to see her brush dark purple nails against the various buttons pinned to the lapels of her jacket. The jacket was a deep maroon with frayed edges and the undershirt sported some band Myka had never heard of in bright neon. The only thing professional about her outfit was her black dress pants and yet there was no doubt Claudia belonged in the department. She owned her space and passersby smiled with familiarity and respect. It was something Myka, a girl who'd been struggling to fit in for as long as she could remember, couldn't help being envious over.

"With the way he was eying you like a prized t-bone steak? Ah ch-yah he's into you," Myka's conscience overruled and she rounded the corner once more, waving to the two of them as she approached. Claudia waved back as she hopped off aged oak," I'm off for lunch, let Helena know the document she wanted is in the printer and I'll be back in an hour." She tossed a departing remark over her shoulder as she walked away, "Ask him out you dope!"

Steve looked mildly uncomfortable, Myka has become fairly familiar with the man in recent weeks, Helena -while usually conscientious -was not the best at keeping time and Myka had quite enjoyed conversing with Steve and Claudia as she waited.

She was curious, she hadn't even been aware that Steve was gay, but she didn't know him well enough to pester or tease like she would if Pete had a crush. Instead she handed him his drink of choice, a chai tea from the cafe near her advisor's office. She returned his smile, well aware that the gratitude in his eyes was for more than tea.

"You look nice." Myka congratulated herself silently for not blushing; she'd been building up quite the tolerance for flattery and embarrassment since working with Helena. Her navy blue pencil skirt and crisp white button down were more formal than she preferred but she'd just started TAing again and impressions mattered. She drummed her fingers along the edge of the desk for a moment, considering. Steve to his credit let her be, as Department liaison and aide he was used to the face of someone wanting something.

"Can I ask a favor?" His nod was immediate and Myka found confidence returning, "Claudia said you were good at finding things. I need to locate a recording. Thomas Edison recorded Walt Whitman reading his poem 'America.'" The skill to find obscure poetry audio recordings was not exactly in her Classics Grad Rolodex.

Steve nodded, already typing on his computer, "May I ask why you need that particular version?" Myka bit her lip. She didn't want to share too much, in part because she wasn't entirely sure of the reliability of her source but mostly because she was territorial over her research. But if he found the poem and had any experience with Whitman…

"Because I have reason to believe it's the only version with an extra three stanzas and I want to know what they say." She watched the intrigue spread across his handsome face and hoped his professionalism would outweigh his curiosity. She could have asked Helena, but she preferred only to bring up leads with significant backing not a vague reference in a letter from Walt Whitman's gay lover.

When she reached Helena's door it was already cracked open so she strolled in with a gentle knock to announce her arrival, "It moved to America." Helena's head shot up from the papers on her desk, her forehead creasing as she took Myka in. Her eyes lingered on black heels and toned calves for a long moment-she'd forgone nylons due to the heat-and then up to rest on her white shirt, which (under the sunlight streaming in from the window) was just transparent enough to provide a glimpse of flushed, heated skin beneath thin cotton.

Myka struggled to discern iris from pupil as those dark eyes found hers. Suddenly it didn't matter that a week had passed; it didn't matter that there was a steady stream of people passing outside Helena's office…the events of that evening hung like a ghost in the air between them, whispering enticingly into their ears. Myka swallowed thickly and repeated herself, "They moved it to the United States not long after Keats' death." They were still utterly clueless as to what the _it_ entailed, although they were fairly certain it involved a collection of items rather than a singular piece.

Helena did not appear surprised, although the words did sever the intensity of the moment, clearing the haze from her eyes. But she didn't ask to see Myka's notes like she usually did. Instead she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, Myka was glad for the charcoal pants as she didn't need the added distraction of exposed skin today.

Helena regarded Myka intently for a long moment before shaking her head and plowing forward, "Of our list of suspected secret keepers I believe we have 4 Americans," she ticked them off on her fingers, "Walt Whitman, James Thomas Fields, Marie Curie and Thomas Edison."

Myka nodded, "I think we should include Nicolas Tesla. He immigrated to the States specifically to work under Edison."

Now Myka was positive something was off about the Professor. She did not question this leap, although truthfully it wasn't much of one as Tesla had come to the United States the same year as their elusive prize-If the mistress of Victor Hugo was to be believed-but Helena didn't know that. She simply nodded and made a note in the margin of the file in front of her. The emotion flittering across Helena's distinguished features was so out of place for the woman it took Myka a few seconds to place it…anxiety. Professor Wells was nervous.

"What's our timeline to now?" Helena wasn't looking at her and Myka had a growing suspicion that whatever was going on had very little to do with the awkward almost kiss.

She answered absently as her mind puzzled over the woman, "We can trace wonderland (a nickname they'd decided on after tiring of 'it' and deciding 'the holy grail' was far too cliché) to 1912." Helena nodded, but the movement was distracted, abrupt and graceless as her attention focused inwards. Myka could see the confliction in her furrowed brow, in the subtle shake of thin fingers through raven hair.

She wondered if Professor Wells' current state had anything to do with the shadow Myka sometimes saw behind the woman's eyes, the immense yet invisible weight that was capable of bowing such an impressive woman. No, the pain Helena carried was nothing new, Myka had often felt it calling out to the part of her that still ached over Sam. No, it was the vulnerability-more that of a caged animal than a woman having a breakdown- that struck Myka like a physical blow.

First Pete and now Helena, everywhere people she cared about were hurting and that jagged and brittle thing wrenched itself along her ribcage now…carving a path for her heart to make leave from her chest for that seemed to be the only way she'd listen to it. She dropped her shoulder bag onto the chair before leaning slowly over the cherry wood desk separating them.

She gave Helena every chance to back away, but the woman only stared. Wide obsidian eyes, unblinking until the moment Myka's fingers touched her jaw. They slid shut as Myka moved to cup her cheek. Myka struggled to pull in each breath; it felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. A vacuum that was the heat and softness of Helena's skin.

"What's wrong Helena?" Her voice was low and rough; she resisted the urge to clear her throat. Helena's eyes fluttered open and Myka watched her worry her bottom lip. She wondered if Helena had picked that habit from her, she didn't remember her doing it when they first met.

"I want to help."

There was a great whispering from the hall and Myka wondered if the universe was telling her something with these interruptions. They both turned to the door and spotted the bright yellow insignia on half a dozen jackets. FBI. They were coming their way. Helena was up and out the door before Myka was done processing.

Myka trailed behind to watch the professor approach a woman with a distinct air of authority about her. She was beautiful: long blonde hair, soft features allayed by the steel in her green eyes. She wore a fitted black suit and midnight blue dress shirt beneath her standard issue jacket. Classy, reserved.

"The FBI. What a pleasant surprise." Myka knew that tone, it was the same one Professor Wells used when dealing with undergrads that couldn't respect office hours. She'd seen bearded hipsters cower under that tone and the cool look that came with it, the blonde agent merely quirked an eyebrow and signaled to the 4 agents with her. They split in pairs, half headed towards Claudia's desk and the other two towards Helena's office. They had to step around Helena and Myka to gain entrance, and Myka watched bemused as one of them, a young Hispanic man, warily eyed Helena as he passed.

"Agents Dunham," she pointed at herself before pointing to the others, "Francis, Gonzales, Sampson and Winters. We have a warrant for any and all files or documents to which Claudia Donovan had access." Helena grabbed the warrant from agent Dunham, fire blazing in her eyes. Myka turned to watch all her notes and files being unceremoniously dumped into file boxes.

"That's my research!" her voice was strained as she reached out and grabbed a thick file from one of the agent's, Gonzales', hands. He snatched it back and glared at her, "Any work of yours judged as unrelated to Ms. Donovan can be picked up at the New York Bureau Office." She growled in aggravation and spun around to watch Helena step well into the blonde agent's personal space,

"You're going after Claudia for cyber terrorism? Is that even under your purview?" Myka's anger faltered at the familiarity of the question, at the tense air between the two women that spoke to more than the current situation. It struck her abruptly; they knew each other. It only further confused her, only further incited her anger. What the hell was going on?

One thing was for sure, Helena was fuming, more upset than Myka ever remembered seeing her, "How does it feel to be a tool of intimidation rather than protector of the innocent?"

Agent Dunham laughed, light and mocking, "Oh you may be many things Helena," and Myka seethed as she watched the agent let her eyes leisurely rake down to take in _all that Helena was_, "but innocent isn't one of them."

Helena ignored the jab; stepping so close Myka watched agent Dunham's breath catch, "And Claudia?"

The agent's jaw tightened. Something flickered across her face- guilt, regret- it was too fleeting a moment to say for certain. Seeing the look Myka doubted that it was coincidence, that the FBI arrived just after Claudia left for lunch. A missing piece of the puzzle slid into place. They didn't want Claudia there for this. Agent Dunham didn't want her there for this…because despite appearances, they were going after Helena.

Agent Dunham didn't back away from the closeness, didn't shy away from the intensity of the woman's glare, "Whatever you may think, this isn't about you and me _Professor _Wells. These orders came down from so high even the name of the person debriefing me has been redacted."

As illuminating as this interaction was, Myka's eye was drawn to the other female agent of the group, Agent Winters. She was on her knees, busily removing Claudia's hard drive. The sleeves of her jacket had been rolled up to reveal a small tattoo along the webbing between the forefinger and thumb of her right hand. She recognized the symbol instantly and- with all the stealth she was capable- snapped a picture with her phone.

As the two of them seemed content to simply glare at one another, Myka didn't reel too badly about interrupting. She tugged purposefully on Helena's sleeve, dragging her away.

"What is it?" Helena's voice was harsh, and Myka flinched minutely even though she knew the anger wasn't for her. She ignored agent Dunham's curious stare as she passed the phone to Helena. The reaction was immediate; Helena paled, the fingers of her free hand rising to tightly clasp a locket hanging from a silver chain around her neck. Myka's curiosity burned bright and hot and needing. She yanked Helena by the arm, leading her around the corner before pushing her into the women's restroom.

"What is going on Helena?" Her voice was a whispered shout as she quickly checked to ensure they were alone, "Why is the FBI here?" She stalked forward and Helena stepped back, "How do you recognize that tattoo? How do you know Agent Dunham and why are they going through Claudia to get to you? Are they going to go through me next?" Each question was punctuated with another step until Helena was backed up against the sink.

Helena remained silent, her mouth opening and closing. Myka grabbed the woman's shoulders and shook hard, "well!?"

"The tattoo is the eye of horus."

Myka's grip loosened, but she didn't let go…she already knew that. "Yeah, Classics major remember? Often used to symbolize sacrifice, healing, restoration and protection."

Helena nodded, looking suddenly very tired. She slid back to sit on the sink, her head falling back against the mirror, "Protection," she muttered softly, "I tried to protect you from this. Both of you."

And there it was again, that vulnerability…but before where it incited sympathy now it only spurred her anger. Because Myka wanted to help and because people were always trying to protect her and because damn it this is her research and future those agents were packing up.

"I think it's too late for that. Tell me what's going on." Helena shook her head again, her voice strong despite the weary grief on her face,

"No."

Myka felt her expression harden as she let go of Helena's shoulders and stepped back. She was suddenly utterly calm, decision made, walk away. For now she willed herself to stone, hard and unbending. There would be time later for anger and hurt and betrayal and whatever else her heart gifted her with for daring to listen to it.

She could vaguely hear Helena following her out of the bathroom, could just catch Olivia's inquisitive glance, but could not miss the agent's parting words…they echoed through her mind…

_"Still bedding the wrong people I see?"_

Myka willed herself to stone.

~.~.~

Helena's eyes trailed over the file in her hands, but she wasn't absorbing the words. She could recite all 47 pages of the report verbatim, but holding it almost felt like _doing_ something. At the very least the wrinkled and bloodstained pages served as a reminder.

She set the file down on her desk and picked up a small gold compact, idly tracing the etching on its front, "L.A.B." She knew well enough that opening it wouldn't provide the answers she sought, but it was invariably part of those answers.

The door swung open and Helena started, instantly recognizing the clank of vintage steel-toed boots, "Claudia." She scolded herself; there was no cause for her voice to sound so cagey.

Of course Claudia picked up on it instantly, her eyes falling to the blood red file and horrors it contained, "I knew it!" Her voice was equal parts vindicated and accusatory as she stalked up to Helena's desk. Helena stiffened, her mind was still reeling from her confrontation with Myka the day before… she didn't need this.

"Claudia." Her voice was soft and just shy of beseeching. But the young woman was beyond listening and Helena knew well the wild fervor in Claudia's eyes,

"I knew you weren't spending all that time with her just because she's a hottie or you wanted to publish a new paper. I KNEW there had to be more to it, " she placed both palms on the desk and leaned over until she could stare Helena dead in the eyes, Helena met the gaze unflinchingly, "Especially with the F.B.I showing up."

All this was said in a single breath and Claudia looked winded from it, from the tempest of emotions stirring within her. Wounds ready to bleed anew at the barest scratch.

"You've found them." She'd gone quiet. The anger a front for the desperation now clawing its way through the lines on her face… Lines she'd gotten far too young. Helena preferred the yelling.

"No." She was tempted to leave it at that, but she knew better, knew Claudia would just go digging on her own, "We've found their past, but we're close and somehow they knew it."

The palms on her desk clenched into fists, "Are you saying those bastards are working for the FBI?"

"Some of them are." She closed the file. Her fingers skidded along the underside of the desk until they found a small switch and she dropped both the file and the compact into the secret compartment she'd built-thankfully one the Feds had missed in their search.

"What aren't you telling me?" There was that tone again, just like Myka. As if the secrets she kept didn't burn her, didn't haunt her, not realizing that sharing would throw them both into peril. Truthfully, Helena didn't know how much longer she could keep it bottled up…she was not this noble.

She let out a quiet sigh, "A great many things my dear," she raised a hand to cut off the young woman's interjection, "as per agreed."

Claudia groaned and spun around to kick at a large metal file cabinet. The bottom drawer popped open and she kicked it shut again as her head fell against the top, voice so low Helena strained to catch it, "I want them H.G."

Helena's nostril's flared as something cold and unyielding shot through her veins, "I know."

~.~.~

_Flashback_

_Her battery was dying. She plugged the phone into the computer as she settled onto the kitchen island, clearing the clutter out of the way. She took a few deep breaths, steeling herself before her next move. Her eyes hardened, her posture unwavering and erect…she began to dial._

"_What do you have for me?_

_"I got him. I want double." The voice was gruff and uncultured. Helena had been afraid of this, the people she'd been dealing with of late were hardly trustworthy._

_"No. We agreed on price."_

_There was a hiss and Helena's grip tightened around the phone, "Listen princess. Things got messy tracking the bastard down. I want double."_

_Helena felt a pang in her chest, "Here. You can confirm he is there right now? You have him in sight?" So long searching, too many false calls._

_"Yeah lady I see him." Helena bristled, 'princess' 'lady,' she supposed it could be worse. She'd certainly heard worse._

_"Send me a picture."_

_It takes her a few moments to open it up on her computer. It's just a profile, a man walking into a gas station, but it's enough. She could never forget that face._

_"I can't afford double." Anxiety was laced in her words, breaking them against her throat before tumbling out._

_Such weakness was met with no compassion, "Too bad. Call me back when you do. And you better get it fast, who knows how long he'll be here for. I ain't his babysitter."_

_"I'll try." A dial tone is her only response, she hung up…suddenly calm. Her eyes returned to her computer as she began typing furiously, the screen displayed a running code and then a map with a small red, blinking light._

_Las Vegas._

~.~.~

She pulled back the slide an eighth of an inch, her other hand swept up to pinch the slide lock and gently slid it down. She worked in the dark, with only the moon from the window at her back to guide her. Her movement was practiced but slow as she removed the slide, then the spring assembly, finally the pistol base. Before a few years ago she'd never held a gun, now the cold metal felt familiar, bringing back old feelings, rage and vengeance tempered by time but never gone and certainly not quenched.

She arranged the pieces along the dining room table in front of her. Making a puzzle and then rearranging them into a new design, waiting. A fruitless attempt to keep her thoughts from straying from the task at hand, but control had been a fickle thing in the case of one Myka Bering.

Their dance was like a shock to her heart, forcing that damned organ she had very well given up on to beat once more. But it was done on a knife's edge and Helena was already dodging one too many sharp edges in her life. And while she suspected pursuing a romantic entanglement, letting the woman in… would only endanger Helena's heart, Myka's fate would be far more dire. And no fluttering of the heart or momentary peace was worth taking Ms. Bering from this world.

She leaned back in her chair, reaching for her tumbler and raising it to her lips. She filled her mouth before swallowing, wanting to savor the burn. She traced her fingers along the pistol base before picking it up. She held her arm out over the edge of the table and let it fall with a resounding_clank. _She winced faintly, she was fairly certain she'd just scuffed the wood flooring.

A small light flicked on from the end of the hall leading into the room. Quiet footsteps followed and Helena sat completely still, aware that she would be blanketed in shadow. The blonde that stumbled into the room, on the other hand was quite within her vision…and what a vision she was: a thin black tank top and bikini underwear that left miles of golden skin for Helena's eyes to feast upon. The sight awakened old memories and she shook them away, her movement drawing pale green eyes in her direction.

"Who's there?" There was a small amount of fumbling before the overhead light switched on and Helena blinked at the sudden brightness. She was unsure how long she'd been in the dark; at times it felt like she never left its cold embrace. Helena grinned at Olivia Dunham's alarmed expression,

"Your taste in whiskey is still impeccable." Her tone was light but cautious and wisely so. She was unsure how to begin a civil conversation with a woman she had wronged so completely that breaking and entering would be the smallest of her sins.

"Helena are you insane!? Breaking into a Federal Agent's place in the middle of the night." Olivia's voice was thundering but her posture oddly calm, almost expectant, "Why shouldn't I arrest you for this?"

Helena took a breath and hoped she had not just doomed everything with this decision, the unfamiliar choice…to trust,

"Because you're curious at to whom is behind your orders; because you were the kind of Marine that dared prosecute a rapist with a hell of a lot of military stars backing him, and because your work as an special investigator taught you a thing or two about a cover up."

Helena watched the curiosity ignite in the agent's gaze, and she could not resist a smirk, "At the very least you're going to hear me out because you don't want to admit I managed to sneak into your place, take apart your gun and confront you in your underwear."

Helena watched her jaw tighten, the steely edge return to her eyes. She grimaced inwardly as she backtracked (it would serve her right to end up in jail because of her inability not to gloat),

"We are who we protect, what we stand up for. Let me tell you who I am Olivia. Who I protect and what I've done to ensure that protection, and if you still want to arrest me when I'm done… I'll go quietly."

Olivia didn't answer, instead she walked over to the kitchen-never taking her eyes off Helena-and grabbed another glass. She rounded the table again and sat down across from the brunette. She slid the glass across the table before sitting back in her seat, eyes narrow and appraising. Helena poured three fingers of whiskey and slid it back, "For you and I it started in Las Vegas. But for me it all began in Paris…"


End file.
